


toss a bard to your witchers

by sprx77



Series: Kinktober is 20/20 [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: Lambert sees Jaskier with his sleeves up and his 'hair down'.He thinks "Oh no, he's hot!" and promptly takes him home to Aiden.Kinktober Day 2:daddy kinkor dirty talk
Relationships: Aiden/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Kinktober is 20/20 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953403
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	toss a bard to your witchers

**Author's Note:**

> This was not the fic I was supposed to be writing today, for this prompt, and I'm not sure if it counts as dirty talk when no one's having sex. However, it's all I got! Day 2, Kinktober, Dirty Talk. Enjoy

Lambert owns a tattoo shop. It’s wolf-themed, half a nod at his husband’s biker bar. The biker bar is all ripped leather and skinheads, but the symbol is actually cat claws; Lambert couldn’t tell you why. Maybe his husband felt like being contrary.

Maybe it had something to do with the cat shelter all the devoted bikers volunteered at religiously. Eskel was still very smug about it.

Lambert does not expect the florist who just opened up-- on the other side of his other brother’s bookstore, not two months prior—to come sauntering in. The glass door opens; the bell above chimes. Lambert looks up and almost drops the needle he’s cleaning.

The florist is _hot_. Which, of course, he’d known; they’d seen him as he moved in, as he set up the place, and as he watered the display flowers out front three times a day like clockwork.

Today is a revelation because the florist, Jaskier, is wearing a white button-down with his sleeves pinned up, revealing a second set of sleeves inked into his skin. Watercolor flowers and birds slide down unreasonably thick biceps and delicately frame lithe, graceful forearms.

Lambert finds his gaze caught at the vein and the urge to put his teeth to it is quite literally staggering.

 _I must stall until Aidan finishes his shift_ , Lambert thinks somewhat desperately, tearing his eyes away to find the clock on the wall behind Jaskier’s head.

Oh, good. Only fifteen minutes. Lambert had finished business for the day and had resorted to re-cleaning his already sparkling equipment, just to keep his hands moving.

“Hel _lo_ ,” Jaskier grins winningly. “I’ve heard you’re the man to see about some ink? It’s just I need a touch up, you see, and having seen you I’d hardly mind you touching me up.”

He winked saucily, just over the top enough that it could—possibly—be joking, if Lambert took offence.

Lambert swallowed hard.

Fortunately, Lambert’s mouth hasn’t needed input from his brain in nigh-on fifteen years.

“And what part of you needs my special attention, today?” He finds himself flirting back, grinning wide. He gives Jaskier a solid look-over.

Jaskier’s eyes glitter at the volley; he leans forward, playing along to the game he himself started.

“Oh, I’m positively covered in designs, old and new. I couldn’t possibly discern which should be touched up first. Perhaps a more distinguished eye could tell me where we should start?”

Lambert’s self-control fails him.

Mercifully, fate chooses that moment to bestow upon him a wondrous idea.

If he cannot bear to wait for his husband, he will simply have to take the party Aiden’s way.

“Let me buy you a drink?” He offers smoothly. “We can talk all about it over dinner.”

“Drinks _and_ dinner?” Jaskier’s lips drew into a wet smile, appreciative. “My usual artists can’t wait to put it in me.”

“Cads.” Lambert snorts, struggling to keep his face straight. “For a specimen such as yourself? Only the best tools will do. They ought to fit you _just_ right, and how can we manage that without a proper… conversation?”

“I can’t say my usual fare give any regard whatsoever to the man beneath the ink.” He purses his lips, raising his arms and looking to the designs there pointedly. “They do tend to be rather _only_ concerned with what I’m… wearing.”

Lambert allows his own gaze to smolder with promise.

“Strange.” He says. “I could see those pretty flowers so much better if you weren’t wearing anything, at all.”

Lambert holds out an elbow like a proper gentleman.

Jaskier laughs, something breathy and amused. He allows himself to be led out of the store, looking around and at the darkening sky as Lambert locks up behind them.

“You said _tools_ earlier,” Jaskier notes, casual except for his eyes. “Was that pluralization entirely intentional?”

Lambert works with his hands. His wedding ring is on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt. He looks to the florist and then the October street, brushed with dying leaves; he looks up that same street to Cait Sith, a scant four shops away.

“That depends.” He steps closer, pleased when Jaskier doesn’t move away. “How do you feel about leather?”

Jaskier’s blue eyes are all pupil, now; his breath fans warm and sweet against Lambert’s mouth, they’re so close.

“I could be convinced.” The florist breathes, which is all Lambert needs to hear. He can make this work. In the meantime, he presses closer still and bridges the shrinking gap between them for a rather dirty first kiss.

Never let it be said High Moon or its owner would ever resort to false advertisement. Brand honesty at it’s finest, here, as Jaskier’s head tilts up and up to meet him, soft rose lips parting with a sigh.

In for a penny, in for a pound; Lambert lets his hands settle on a firm ass tightly covered with worn denim. It fits perfectly in his palms.

Jaskier hums, pleased.

 _Oh, we are going to have_ so _much fun_ , Lambert thinks, drawing back to see the wash of pink painted across the florist’s cheeks.

He cannot wait to get his husband in on this, nor to _really_ get this party started.

He takes Jaskier by the hand in the right direction.

(Jaskier, for the first time of so very many, follows him willingly into Aidan’s waiting arms.)

**Author's Note:**

> Short but sweet!
> 
> I'm definitelynotaminion.tumblr.com and there are those who call me Tim


End file.
